


Years Later

by thewalrus_said



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7932130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years later, Mustang will look back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Years Later

**Author's Note:**

> So this is not so much a 'fic' as it is a 'feels explosion'. Blame [RobinLorin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLorin/pseuds/RobinLorin); God knows I do.

Two days after Hawkeye’s funeral, Mustang’s organization was interrupted by a knock at his door. ( _Organization_ is putting it kindly; he was mostly shuffling papers around, trying to find anything Hawkeye may have said that would unlock the key to flame alchemy.)

Riza is wearing a rare skirt and blouse, still black in mourning for her father. She’s trembling as she walks inside, slightly enough that Mustang can ignore it and offer her a drink.

“No thank you,” she said, picking up a sheet of paper off his desk. “What are you working on?”

“Packing, actually,” Mustang answered.

She turned to face him. “Are you leaving us already?”

“I was a student of your father’s, and with him gone, I’m not sure what else I can do here.” Mustang took the paper from her, a rough sketch of a basic transmutation circle, Mustang’s own clumsy attempts at flame alchemy alterations drawn on top. “I’m sure your father hid the secrets of flame alchemy well enough that I’ll never find it on my own, no matter how long I look..”

“You’re not wrong. That’s what I came to talk to you about.” Riza stepped away from the table, looking out the window for a moment before turning back to him. “I asked you, at the funeral, if I could trust you with my father’s secrets. You didn’t answer.”

Mustang nodded. “I couldn’t see a point in answering. You already know what I think. What matters is what you think.”

She held his gaze for a heartbeat, two, three, and then nodded. “I think you’re a good man, Mustang. I think I can trust you with it.”

“I’m honored.”

Instead of responding, she turned back around, stepped out of view of the window, and slowly unbuttoned her blouse. It slipped off her shoulders and hit the floor with a whisper.

Mustang allowed himself one gasp before diving for a pencil and the nearest blank side of paper he could find.

She was trembling again by the time he finished, more forcefully than when she came in; he wanted to reach out to her, but instead said, “I’ll get you that drink now,” and left the room. When he returned, two glasses of whiskey in hand, she was clothed again and her shoulders were still.

“Thank you,” Mustang whispered, once she had taken her glass from him and drained it. Riza said nothing, just gave him a smile that read _be worth it_ and let herself out.

(Years later, as he coats her bright red back in every sort of burn cream he’d been able to acquire, her shoulders shaking again, he says, “Say the word. Say the word, Riza, and I will never use flame alchemy again.”

She laughs, a wet, painful chuckle. “I still think you’re a good man, sir. I still trust you with my father’s research.” Then, quieter: “But thank you for the offer.”

Mustang bandages her back, washes his hands, and weeps until he fell asleep.)

\--

“Knock knock.”

Mustang put his finger on his place in the book in front of him (a tactical history of aerial combat), though he pretended to keep reading. “Who’s there?”

“Boo,” Hughes answered, dropping his bedroll next to Mustang’s, blocking the light from the fire until he lay down.

Mustang gave up the pretense, lifting his eyes to the heavens before asking, “Boo who?”

“Well, I support emotional expression, but if you’re going to cry all night I’m going to have to sleep somewhere else.”

“Good one.” Mustang marked his place in the book, closed it, and rolled over onto his back. Hughes was looking just as smug as expected. “Did you come up with it yourself?”

“You know, I did, actually!” Hughes flopped over onto his back as well. “Maybe I’ll try a variant of it on Gracia via postcard.”

“‘Don’t cry, I’ll be home soon’?”

“Mmm.”

Mustang started counting - fifteen seconds passed, and then: “I got another letter from her today!”

“And how is she? Getting hit on by all those attractive men you were worried about?”

Hughes rolled onto his side, propping himself up and facing Mustang. “No, apparently they’re ignoring her. Which I don’t understand! She’s perfect! How could they ignore her?!?!?!”

“One of the great mysteries of the world, Hughes.”

Hughes narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think you’re taking this very seriously, Roy.”

Mustang laughed. “I’m really not, Hughes.”

Hughes snorted and collapsed again. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. There isn’t a romantic bone in your body.”

“Whereas your skeleton is made of nothing but romance.” Mustang looked over, caught Hughes’ eye, and smiled. “Maybe we both could use some work.”

“Nope! I’m perfect. I could coach you, though.” Hughes beamed. Mustang laughed.

(Years later, Mustang pulls all the books off his shelves until he finds that one, that book on aerial tactics that technically belonged to one of Hawkeye’s sniper friends but he never returned it and she never asked for it back -

The damn marker is still in the book, he’d never been able to get back to it after that night, the war left so little time for reading -

Hughes’ laugh is still in his ears, the firelight glinting off his glasses, Elicia on his shoulders pulling his hair -

He throws it onto his desk, or he means to, but the flames take it midair and only ashes land on the wood surface.)

\--

Edward Elric, the newly-minted Fullmetal Alchemist, was sitting in Mustang’s chair when he came back from lunch. He was holding the latest report on crime in the eastern sector of the city, and seemed to be actually reading it with interest.

“Fullmetal,” Mustang said, stepping over his threshold, the Lieutenant a step behind him as always. “Congratulations on your accomplishment. The youngest state alchemist in history, I believe.”

“Come on, like you don’t have the stats memorized,” Elric said, shutting the report and placing it back down onto the desk. “And thanks. Did you hear Fuhrer Bradley himself crashed my exam?”

Mustang took another step forward, bringing him right in front of the desk. “I had heard something of the sort, yes. Good to have it confirmed.” If the Fuhrer had taken a special interest in the Elrics, that was very interesting, and Mustang would have to keep an eye out.

Elric finally took the hint and got out of Mustang’s chair. He threw an awkward glance at the Lieutenant as he passed her to examine the map on Mustang’s wall.

“Lieutenant, could you give us a minute?” Mustang asked, taking a seat.

“Sir -”

“I promise you, Lieutenant, the Fullmetal Alchemist means me no harm.” Mustang smirked. “And if he does, I have full confidence in your ability to thwart him even through a closed door.”

“Sir.” She left, closing the door behind her.

“Thanks for that,” Elric said, returning from the corner to the desk. “She kind of freaks me out a little. Good quality in a bodyguard, I guess.”

“I’ve found that to be the case, yes.” Mustang folded his hands in his lap and waited.

Elric shifted, and said, “Listen, I wanted to thank you. For what you did. Getting me on the path to becoming a state alchemist, that is.” He paused. “I’m not sure we would have made it, without something to work towards. So, thank you.”

“I’m glad to see my visit was useful. I have every confidence that you will one day get your bodies back.”

“You’ll be the first to know.” Elric stood. “Well, not the first. But you’re on the list.”

“Thank you, Fullmetal.”

“Thank _you_ , Colonel.”

(Years later, Edward Elric, the Fullmetal non-Alchemist, comes to Mustang’s hospital room to say goodbye. He’s smiling, but his face falls when he sees Mustang’s eyes focus on his outstretched hand.

“A philosopher’s stone?” Elric asks.

Mustang nods. “I’ll be able to do more good in the world with my eyesight than without it. I hope you understand.”

“Yeah,” Elric says. “Sure.”)

\--

(Years later, Mustang will board a train in Ishval, and get off it in Central. Lieutenant Hawkeye will be a step behind him, eyes alert, guns strapped to her thighs. He will walk to the center of the city,  and he will kneel, and he will finally achieve victory.)

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me on [tumblr](http://thewalrus-said.tumblr.com)!


End file.
